


Stitches

by Deepdarkwaters



Series: Bespoke [17]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Medical Kink, Minor Injuries, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 05:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10353336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/pseuds/Deepdarkwaters
Summary: Eggsy strolls back in from a mission with some unnecessary injuries, as usual, but this time he goes to Merlin instead of the hospital.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VioletSmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletSmith/gifts).



> Obvious disclaimer, maybe don't sew your husband's boyfriend's shot arm back together in your dusty office. Do not recommend outside of cheap fictional smut!
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SMAYCHEL!!!

Eggsy saunters in from his mission covered in blood and pretending he's not in pain.

Merlin tracks him on the cameras as far as possible, from the hangar right to the door of the shower room – even he wouldn't put cameras in there – then minimises the window and turns his attention back to the expense forms he's ploughing though. Eggsy knows where he is, and with Harry away poking around some nonsense in Moscow there's nowhere else the boy is likely to go for some coddling, at least not at past two in the morning.

He doesn't knock, of course. Opens the door and strolls in like he owns the place, hair still dark and damp from his shower. Up close he smells like Harry's favourite bath potions: a warm, hazy cloud of it seems to envelop Merlin as Eggsy marches straight across the room and drops astride his lap before the door's even finished swinging shut.

"Hello," Merlin says mildly, putting his tablet down on the table beside them.

"Hey." Eggsy grins, sunny and cheerful as though his lip and forehead aren't split and there aren't hastily-applied clumps of bandages showing through the thin white fabric of his t-shirt. He drops the briefcase he's carrying onto the carpet, then either side of his head Merlin can hear the gentle squeak of Eggsy's hands bracing on the leather back of his old Chesterfield sofa as he shuffles closer, and loops his arms around the boy's hips to encourage him to settle.

"You know, most people going into a guaranteed shootout who had the luxury of a bulletproof jacket would actually wear it."

"It's July," Eggsy reminds him, "in the south of fucking France." He sounds exactly as aggrieved as Harry always does when he's called on his idiotic behaviour, though Merlin's fairly sure that one's not actually Harry's influence. Eggsy's just fucking stubborn; it's as ingrained in him as his loyalty and his love of twee old films. "Won't get hurt if I keep my jacket on, yeah, but I move better without it. You gotta trust me to know what I'm doing, alright? I ain't the new kid no more."

"I know. I do trust you. Still think you're an idiot."

"Well, that's fair enough, yeah." He smiles again, softer than before, when Merin reaches up to touch his mouth – the pink, perfect place, not the place slashed through with a messy little gash already starting to scab over. "Mouth's alright, had worse. Reckon I could do with stitches up here, though"—he gestures at the blooming bruise and wide, ugly cut above his eyebrow—"and definitely here"—again at the place on his bicep where soggy bandages are distorting the hem of his sleeve.

"Well we'd better get you to the infirmary, then," Merlin tells him, just a hint of impatience in his voice because seriously he really is _just like Harry_ in this total disregard for his own health. He begins to move, meaning to tip Eggsy off his lap and frogmarch him to the lifts, until Eggsy cups Merlin's face gently in his hands and gives him a careful kiss of such sweetness that it somehow has the effect of a slap more than anything, surprising the fight out of him and making him lean back against the leather cushions, defeated.

"I went," Eggsy insists. He kisses again, Merlin's mouth first and then a clumsy little scatter all around his chin and cheeks. "Snuck in, packed supplies, legged it here." The briefcase. "Want you to do it," he says.

He sits back a little way on Merlin's thighs, stubborn look clicked firmly onto his face like Lego as though he thinks he might have to fight to get his way on this one. Merlin just reaches around him to bring the briefcase up onto the cushion beside them and snaps it open to see what he brought.

Sterile gloves and wipes first, that's a good start. Gauze and saline. Silently he begins with Eggsy's face, cleaning the cut that's still sluggishly gathering blood deep inside itself until he's happy it's ready to be pulled back together. He can feel Eggsy's breath on his wrist as he works, rapid and shallow: pinching the sides of the gash together, pressing the first steristrip across the middle, neatly and methodically laying the rest at intervals either side until he's done.

"Bet Harry'd have a fucking massive boner by now if you was doing this to him."

Merlin just looks at him for a moment – at the laughter and the hunger in equal parts in his green eyes – then reaches between their bodies to run a gloved thumb up the hardening, heavy line of Eggsy's cock distorting his tracksuit. "Like this?"

"Yeah."

"I imagine he would, yes."

"Harry's messed up in the head."

"He wears it well." Again, Merlin drags the slow press of his thumb along Eggsy's cock, lingering when he feels the head of it and starting to draw lazy little circles there until Eggsy's choking something that might be words, head tipped back as if he's staring at something on the ceiling although his eyes are squeezed shut. _So do you_ , Merlin almost wants to say, but that would only open him up to having his words thrown back at him. "Can you take your t-shirt off, or do I need to cut it from you?"

"Don't cut it! I got it on, I'll get it off again."

Harry's played the swooning patient before far too many times to count, and he likes it best when he's so immersed in it that the line between reality and play gets blurred away to almost nothing: the right setting, the antiseptic smell of a hospital room, clinking instruments. Being cut, sometimes. The fascinating numbness of a patch of limb the time he decided he wanted to fuck about with anaesthetic for the fun of it, feeling the slow warm slide of Merlin's gloved fingers grow more and more distant down his forearm until the sensation vanished completely, then reappeared again on the other side. Eggsy's not Harry. He's exploring, testing the edges of all of this like a nervous swimmer who maybe likes the idea of being in the water more than the actual act of diving, and that's alright. In that, at least, he's no different to Harry at all: Merlin wants to give them both exactly what they need, and take whatever they want to give.

So he helps Eggsy with his t-shirt, discards it somewhere on the floor, replaces his gloves with a fresh pair and begins to work on cleaning the next wound: the ragged gash of a bullet that clipped his arm and tore through the skin. It's too long and deep for the butterfly stitches, but of course Eggsy already knows that. He threw sterile packs of sutures and tools in his case on his raid of the hospital, and now he's sitting there with his jaw set, ready for the fresh burst of pain on flesh that's already sore.

"It'll hurt," Merlin tells him anyway as he's cleaning. "Be brave and you'll get a lollipop."

"Hope you're talking about your dick."

"Jesus, you really are as bad as Harry. Quiet now, let me concentrate."

He stitches and knots quickly, neatly, the same way he does everything, and astride his lap Eggsy wriggles helplessly, fighting the sensations, until Merlin quells him with a look and he finally goes still. He's not watching the way Harry does – Harry, king of the self-obsessed, is as pathologically fascinated by the inside of his own body as he is by the outside of it and always demands to see videos of any surgery he's unconscious for. Eggsy looks away instead, fixing his bright gaze somewhere over Merlin's shoulder, consciously pacing his noisy breathing around the tip of the thumb he's tucked between his teeth to bite down on every time the needle tip enters his skin.

"There," Merlin murmurs, tying off the last knot, "done."

"Alright." Eggsy's cheeks are flushed; he almost looks feverish as he's watching Merlin throw all the used stuff into the little waste bins he packed, tracking every tiny movement with his bird-bright eyes. Merlin wonders whether the Kingsman medical staff ever see this when they're patching him up. Probably not. Eggsy loves watching Harry have his flings with everyone in the world just as much as Merlin does, but for now, at least, he's devotedly single-minded about where he lays his own affections and who and what turns him on. "You gonna give me your dick now?"

"How could anyone refuse such a poetic proposition?"

"Shut the fuck up," Eggsy tells him cheerfully as he's clambering off Merlin's lap and easing down to his knees on the office carpet. "I was brave. I get a prize. That's the rules."

"Nice to know there are some you decide to follow to the letter while you're burning the rest to ashes." Eggsy just grins at him, an impossibly gorgeous picture; from this angle he's all mussed golden hair and broad cheekbones against the dark V of Merlin's trousers, like something painted in oil on the walls of the Royal Academy, like he's just stepped down from the frame. He works Merlin's fly buttons open, coaxes his trousers down just enough, leans in to suck deep drooling kisses to the head of his cock as he strokes it to life – and Merlin feels the motion of his smile when Eggsy hears his glasses connection chirp, hears Merlin's quiet voice say, "Hello, Harry," and, "Yes, he's here with me now."


End file.
